


near

by Kinvi



Series: whim of the other world [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, for now anyway, only a small part of it though, so i made it up! free real estate!, this is so incredibly self indulgent im so sorry, welcome to awakening refused to give me grimas backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22519423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinvi/pseuds/Kinvi
Summary: Something is made. Something begins to breathe.The "birth" of an entity not yet known as the Fell Dragon.
Series: whim of the other world [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620364
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	near

**Author's Note:**

> let me die i dug this out of channel 32 and spruced it up. heres one interpretation of grimas beginnings. this is the same grima we're following in reversible campaign, my other work, if thats interesting to people! (i have a lot of thoughts about grima)
> 
> warning for. i suppose a small bit of animal death? its not graphic but yknow

A jar. A man. A smile.

It was nothing but unusual, but twisted, but forsaken. A mockery of all considered good and holy within the world at large. An abomination. A mistake made entirely on purpose.

Forneus of Thabes was no better or worse a man than the scores of others that walked the same earth as he. He was gifted, intelligent, and absolutely mad. Not at first, mind, but there exists only the aftermath for figures lost to history. The turning point, and the rest. No beginning. Only an end.

Fitting, for what He had done.

It lived in that jar, though it did not know it was alive at first. It barely knew that it _did_ know, that it thought, that it saw. It did not understand that it was experiencing the world. Its world was a blob, distorted through the glass and liquid that it did not have names for, a face it did not recognize, because it did not know what a face _was_. It was given a single word, before it knew what a word entailed.

Father.

It was offered blood, and it grew, ugly and deformed and shifting uncontrollably. It outgrew the jar, and it stumbled and gurgled and began to learn. It saw Father, and He explained the world. The Creation ate and devoured and consumed all of the precious knowledge the Man had gathered, the names of objects and things and items. Important things, Father insisted. Simple things, He raved. 

It watched the Ashwalkers tottering useless and wild about the maze. It crawled deeper into the shadows, raking their bodies apart with its fangs, absorbing everything that they were into itself. It understood how they were made. It understood how to make them. It reached further, more impatiently, to read, curling hunched over the tomes and scrolls and books and notes. It learned the script, the words, but not the meanings.

Alchemy.

Alchemy, it repeated. Science. Research. A blend of chemicals and potions. A bug. Many bugs. It called out, with no voice of its own. It mimicked, imitating the only thing it had ever heard.

**YOU BELONG TO ME** , it said to Forneus, with Forneus’s voice, in Forneus’s mind, with Forneus’s words.

And Forneus continued to unravel. Faster now.

Forneus of Thabes was no better or worse a man than scores of others. Confronted with His own thoughts, reflected and bounced back into His consciousness from an outside source, He reacted as many others would. He panicked. Prone to fear, human as He was, Forneus lashed out. He struck the Creation, intending to rend its existence from the mortal plane. 

He did not succeed.

The Creation did not understand the pain. It hurt, and it did not know the _word_ for pain, but it _felt_ and it did not understand. It lunged, with its maw of teeth and razors, and it shredded Forneus like paper, like the Ashwalkers it fed on. It choked on His flesh, on His screams, and it stared down at His ruined vessel. He did not move again, even when it called the bugs, fashioned a mask, placed it on His face. It stared down at Him, and He rotted.

The Creation began to learn of time, and how it passed relentlessly, unstoppable. It did not have a way to measure, however, for there was no sunlight that reached deep into the labyrinth. The Creation did not know of the sun, or of warmth, or of kindness. It only knew the Ashwalkers sustained it, and it ate them one by one. It learned of the boundaries, of the Seal, the Wall, keeping it inside.

It began to eat that too.

Feeding on the energy, it continued to grow and evolve. Sooner or later, it would be freed, magic be damned. It was not a matter of ‘if’ but of ‘when’ and the Creation had eternity to wait.

Unexpected visitors. 

The Wall was shattered, and a breeze drifted from ‘outside’. The Creation could no longer feed off the Seal, for it was gone. In its place, Not-Ashwalkers approached and wailed in their hideous voices. The Creation echoed back to them, and they, too, lashed out in terror. The Creation understood fear. It absorbed their thoughts into its body, writhing and twisting and hissing. It breathed out and _they_ hurt. It breathed in and _it_ hurt. It did not know its own strength, young as it was. 

It died there, on a fang it did not know was called Falchion.

It died, but it did not disappear, for the Creation did not know of death. It did not understand a lack of life, did not understand it _was_ alive, and so it lingered. The intruders departed, destroying the rest of its Ashwalkers as they left. In that room the Creation had outgrown, it soured and snarled and knew it needed a better plan. It was not welcome, was not permitted to have such a body. What to do then?

The Creation began to create.

Its power, spread thin and dispersed, began to bubble and coalesce. It drew itself tighter and tighter, focused and driven further down, smaller, condensed. It pressed itself into a new body, shaped from broken memories and half-hazed texts. It found four limbs, with tiny little worms to wiggle at the end of the stumps, fitted with claws. It found a chest, settled its three hearts within bones and wrapped in flesh. It found wings—six, regal, feathered like Father’s first experiments—dark and imposing. It found horns, more as a comfort, missing the weight at its temples it had before. It found sharpened fangs and teeth, baring them to its new reflection. It found three pairs of red eyes, blinking separately. It found snowy fur—no, this was called _hair_ —perched atop its head.

The Creation found itself a new body. 

Human. 

Almost.

It had made this for itself, and it was pleased, though it did not understand ‘pleased’. It chirped and learned to speak in its own voice, stumbling about and learning to use its new Self. It dressed and roamed the labyrinth, seeking any final bursts of energy from stray Ashwalkers. 

And then it left the labyrinth, and it learned of sand and sun and heat.

Time passed, and now the Creation could measure it, though it could not quantify the sensations. It did not know why, exactly, there was Dark and Not-Dark, only that they passed and faded into each other in a continuing cycle. It did not know of years, and yet they passed unwittingly. Time did not stop for just anyone. 

It wandered without purpose, without destination, until it found itself in a forest. It found itself kneeling, holding a bird, a robin, it knew from the books it had torn into, cupped in both of its hands. The creature’s wings were twisted, useless, but it breathed. The Creation felt its pain as its own.

“Sleep,” it whispered. 

The bird fell still. 

The Creation held it a while longer. It pondered the creature, so small and powerless before its gaze. An animal. Closer to its Self than perhaps it understood.

“Who are _you_?” a small voice asked.

The Creation turned. It found a little human, ducked and half hidden behind a tree, peeking at it with eyes gone wide. As they were seen, the human shuffled out a little further, showing their teeth. A smile. A child.

“I do not know,” it replied finally.

Emboldened by a response, the child crept closer. “Don’t you have a name?” they asked. “ _Everyone_ has a name!”

The Creation blinked. “...I do not have a name. You are Human. I know this.”

The child giggled. “That’s not my name! That’s what I am.”

The Creation felt its brow furrow. “...That is a name,” it insisted. “You are Human. So you are named.”

“No!” they retorted, stamping one of their little feet as they came closer. “I’m human, but my _name_ is Aeris.”

“I…do not understand,” the Creation replied, bewildered. “You...have multiple names…?”

The child huffed, now right up next to it. They sat themself down and stared up into its multitude of eyes and smiled again.

“My name is _who_ I am,” Aeris explained. “Human is _what_ I am. I’m a girl, and I’m seven years old, and I’m really good at the leaf whistle, and I’m really _really_ good at punching the dough for bread! Those are all things that make up _me_. And I’m Aeris!”

The Creation did not understand this at all. It buzzed uncomfortably and squeezed all of its eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. It knew the words, but it tied no meaning to them. Empty sounds. It wished for the girl to go away, but when it looked again, she was _even closer_.

“Did you forget?” she asked softly, and tipped her head to the side. “Your name?”

Instinctively, it copied her motion, tilting its head as it thought. “I...do not believe so,” it murmured. “I do not recall ever containing a name.”

She blinked, so it blinked back. She lowered her gaze to the bird, still cupped in its hands, so it did too.

“Is it dead?” she asked.

The Creation did not understand.

“It was broken,” it answered. “I told it to sleep.”

“It’s dead,” she repeated sadly.

The Creation still did not understand. It lowered the bird slowly to the ground, setting it amongst the moss, and it considered the sight before speaking again.

“What is…'dead'?”

She looked up again, into its overwhelmed and exhausted eyes, and perhaps she was almost just as confused.

“It’s not alive anymore,” she returned simply, as if this was common knowledge.

The Creation _really_ did not know how to process all of this information.

“What is…'alive'?” it asked weakly.

“It’s all of us!” she exclaimed, gesturing wildly to the forest at large. “It’s you,” she added, poking it in the arm, “and me,” she continued, pointing to herself, “and all the other birds and trees and people! Is your heart beating?”

Before it could stop her, she leaned in close and pressed her ear to its chest. It froze and felt its feathers rising and puffing out, a display to make itself bigger and more threatening, but it could not push her away. She giggled again once she was satisfied, leaning back and looking up at it.

“You have _three_ hearts!” she said proudly. “I didn’t know that was possible. You’re twice as alive as me! Or um...thrice!” And she held up four fingers. The Creation could not count, so it could not correct her, because it did not know she was wrong. “Are you human? You look really funny.”

Each set of eyes blinked separately. It looked to its hands, comparing them to the child’s. Its were bigger, longer, with claws. But hers were so warm.

“No,” it said finally, “I am not human. But I do not know what I am.”

She gave a thoughtful little hum, and it craved the noise. She smushed her cheek into her hand, pouting and looking it over again.

“I guess you’re not a bird,” she sighed. “Birds only have two wings and no horns… Oh! You must be a dragon, right?”

_Dragon_.

Something deep in the Creation’s being called out, grasping and containing that one word within its Self. Dragon, dragon, it murmured, over and over, stronger every time. It consumed the word and it was satisfied.

“Yes,” it breathed, “I am a dragon.” And it paused. “Or...I was, once, and now I am...this.”

Aeris gave another little laugh. She stood and brushed off her dress, and she took one of its hands into both her own. “That’s plenty of dragon for me! Why don’t you come with me, back to my village?”

It balked, but she tugged it to its feet insistently. “Your...village? With—other humans?”

“Of course!” she replied. “I think everyone will love you! You can be my big brother, okay? Oh, but maybe I’m older, so I can be _your_ big sister!”

It did not understand, but it was transfixed by the heat of her form. No human had ever been warm. It followed her, holding carefully as so not to mar her flesh with its claws.

“What are...brothers and sisters?” it asked softly.

“It’s family!” she laughed, almost swinging from its arm. “You’ll see! Oh, that means you need a name. Can I give you a name, new big brother?”

The Creation blinked and furrowed its brow. “You have. I am Dragon.”

“No, no!” she cried, stopping in her tracks. “That’s _what_ you are! I’m _a_ human, you’re _a_ dragon! My _name_ is Aeris. Don’t you want a name too? They’re special, my daddy says! They’re powerful.”

A name… A new part of its Self, defined and made whole. It wondered for a while before lowering its multitude of eyes and gazing into hers, and it nodded. Her smile went even wider, and her face scrunched up in thought as they resumed walking.

“What’s a good name…? What’s the perfect name…?” she mused. “...Ah! How about Gimli?”

The Creation attempted to devour that word, apply it as it had done _dragon_. It settled, but it did not stay tied down. It did not know if this was supposed to happen.

“What does it...mean? What is Gimli?”

Aeris tipped her head. It copied her. “Daddy says it’s the most beautiful place ever! Prettier and warmer than the sun. Some day, we’ll go and find it. He promised me.”

Ah. Those were words the Creation did not know, could not give to itself wholly because it did not understand. It shook its head a little, curling its wings closer to his body.

“No, I cannot be named that,” it murmured. 

Aeris pouted slightly. “Okay, if you really don’t like it… Umm, let’s see… Something else…” She brightened again. “How about Grima?”

And the world began to turn. 

And the world saw it, as the Creation halted the steps carrying the both of them forward, tipping its head back towards the sky. It took the word, the name, that was held out with an open palm, and it devoured the syllables, enjoying the taste of it on its tongue. It looked down to the girl, to its companion—to his little sister.

“Yes,” Grima said quietly, unfurling his wings and stretching in the sunlight. “Yes,” he repeated, a little louder, “I am—Grima.”

Aeris beamed up at him. “Then it’s good to meet you, big brother Grima!”

And Grima smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> at the moment this is just a single chapter..... i may or may not add more exploring other parts of grimas early history once i get farther into rc? for now just. just take this please thank you for joining me on the roller coaster


End file.
